


Young, Green, Magic

by jsnoopy



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Gardens & Gardening, Illnesses, Implied Sexual Content, Light Angst, M/M, Strangers to Lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-16
Updated: 2020-11-16
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:54:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27427516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jsnoopy/pseuds/jsnoopy
Summary: Jeno leans over the sink and splashes his face. When he looks into the mirror, Jeno tries to see whathesees, and finds nothing but a boy made of paper.“What are you so afraid of?” he asks. “Are you a coward?”His reflection has no answer. At least, it does not offer one.
Relationships: Lee Donghyuck | Haechan/Lee Jeno
Comments: 31
Kudos: 122
Collections: '00 FIC FEST ROUND TWO





	Young, Green, Magic

**Author's Note:**

> prompt #00264
> 
> there is a character with illness in this story, but it is not any of the members. as you can see in the tags, there is no risk of character death, but only read if you're comfortable with this subject.
> 
> thank you to my prompter for this idea, thank you to my wonderful friend/beta toast for always encouraging me

“There once was a boy who lived in a castle. Or, a tower– yeah, a tower. And...it had a really nice view.”

“Hyung. This story is so boring.”

“I haven’t gotten to the dragons and sh– stuff yet.”

“Um, spoilers?”

Jeno huffs out a laugh and looks up at the ceiling. The extent of the view out the window is a brick wall, but the ceiling is covered in glow in the dark stars. If he squints he can almost imagine how the sky must look in the country, far from the voices arguing in the street below, the city lights that blot out the night sky. 

“Okay, let me try again,” Jeno murmurs.

Junseo snuffles a little, pulling his blankets up to his nose. “I’m twelve, you know. I’m too old for bedtime stories.”

Yet you still asked for one, Jeno wants to say. He bites his tongue, keeping his eyes on the ceiling while Junseo rolls around, getting comfortable. Junseo sighs with frustration as he fumbles with his tangled wires, unwrapping the tube that comes from the oxygen canister by the bed, winding up to the nasal cannula. 

Jeno waits, careful not to watch him too obviously. Junseo hates being watched.

“I’ll try again,” Jeno says when Junseo settles. The maneuvering leaves Jeno teetering on the very edge of the small hospital bed. He shifts onto his side, facing his brother, so he doesn’t fall to the floor. 

“Usually all the dragons are outside the castle, right?” Jeno murmurs, leaning his cheek into his palm. “But this boy lived with the dragons. He lived with them his whole life. His mother was a dragon, too. He had a nice big egg like all his brothers and sisters, but when he hatched he was just a little boy with delicate human skin and no wings at all. He crawled while his siblings flew, cried when they gave him bloody meat, burned when they blew fire.”

Junseo yawns, giving Jeno pause, but he hasn’t drifted off yet. He just smacks his lips, blinking blearily at Jeno. “How does he leave?”

“He doesn’t want to leave,” Jeno murmurs, “he loves his dragons. They’re not monsters to him, they’re just family.”

“He can’t be the only person living with a bunch of dragons,” Junseo argues. He starts to sit up and open his mouth to cement his point. 

Jeno pushes him back down with a hand on his chest and rolls his eyes. “Okay, okay. So, a knight. A knight hears about the boy locked in the castle with all those big toothy dragons, and he comes to rescue him.

“He fights his way into the castle, just his sword and his courage, all the way to the top of the tower, hacking and slashing through all those big monsters, only getting burnt a little bit because he’s so fast.”

Jeno pauses, thinking. “He finds the not-dragon boy, but he’s crying. The knight says, ‘Don’t worry, I’ll save you.’ The boy sees all the blood of his family, and for the first time finds all the fire inside him. It's always been burning, he just didn’t need it yet. ‘Who said I needed saving?’ Then he explodes, burning up the castle and the knight, his poor dragon family, himself, all of it.”

Jeno braces himself for Junseo’s whine. Instead, he finds him asleep, his chest rising easily, falling moments later. 

Sleep became better once they started him on oxygen. Jeno doesn’t have to stay up worrying anymore, waiting for his brother’s lungs to drown him in the dead of night. 

Jeno leans over, pressing a kiss to Junseo’s temple. “You always fall asleep before it gets good.”

  
  


The drive up to the Lee estate isn’t half as daunting as it had been the first few times. Eventually, the narrow road lined by trees gives way to a wide lawn, a modern house made of beige flagstone and glass. From the driveway, you can see straight into the dining room and, by extension, the kitchen. 

There’s no one there when Jeno parks his car, but by the time he gets out and unloads his tools, there’s a boy sitting at the kitchen island, leaning his chin in his palm as he looks down at a laptop.

Jeno averts his eyes. He has to trim the hedges by the pool and plant some flowers by the guesthouse – the back garden is overrun by weeds and he may have to consider getting something to keep pests away. 

He doesn’t have the time today to get distracted. And he knows, from experience, that distraction always follows Donghyuck’s footsteps. 

  
  


The first time Jeno sees him, he’s lounging on the edge of the pool, his fingers skimming the top of the water. 

It’s barely spring. The air nips at Jeno’s ears. Yet, this boy lays on the concrete in swimming trunks, his chest bare. 

Jeno forgets himself. He stands by the rose bushes, staring, and says, “It’s cold.”

The boy lifts onto his elbows, stares back. “Yeah,” he says, “but it’s not raining.”

It’s such a ridiculous statement that it leaves Jeno speechless. He kneels in the dirt and shakes his head, curls and uncurls his fingers in the cold mud. 

It’s cloudy, the sky dull and gray. Rain or not, it’s too cold to relax by the pool.

He learns the boy is the youngest son, Donghyuck, home after graduating from university. While Jeno grapples for purchase on adulthood, Donghyuck remains in the temporal space between his early twenties and responsibility. 

For a while, Jeno doesn’t see him again, except when he closes his eyes.

When he showers that night, rubbing a cloth over his skin, he hisses out a sharp breath. Across the back of his neck, his skin feels torn. He rubs condensation from the mirror with the heel of his palm, craning his head to the side. His neck is bright red. The sun, hidden all day, still strong enough to burn through the heavy clouds.

  
  


It doesn’t stay cold long. Spring draws close and carries heat with it. 

The second time they meet, Donghyuck doesn’t introduce himself. He approaches and stands there, his shadow looming over Jeno, making him seem much larger. He isn’t half as intimidating as his shadow. 

Donghyuck’s sunglasses, expensive things with big circular lenses that rest high on the bridge of his nose, hide his eyes. He wears a pretty smile – one people would pay for. But it feels empty without knowing if his eyes shine, too, or if they’re hollow and echoing like the big house.

Jeno sits back on his heels. He taps his cap up with his wrist so he can see Donghyuck better. The motion makes dirt sprinkle from his gardening gloves to his lips, and he has to spit to keep the soil from turning to mud in his mouth. It’s automatic – not a pretty sight. Jeno wants to cringe away to hide in the rose bushes, thorns be damned. 

When he looks at Donghyuck again, the shape of his smile has changed, corners of his lips digging into his cheeks. “It’s hot today.”

“Yeah,” Jeno says, hoping the heat is a good enough excuse for the redness he knows is creeping up his cheeks. 

“Are you thirsty?” Donghyuck asks. “I’m thinking about making some lemonade, but we have cola, too.”

Even if Jeno had ever been disposed to say no to handsome boys, he still would’ve nodded. The thought of citrusy bubbles on his tongue makes his mouth water, taste of dirt and sweat from his upper lip or not.

“Come inside,” Donghyuck says. He turns without waiting for Jeno, knowing he’ll follow.

He does, leaving his gloves under the shade of the bushes. 

  
  


Everything in the house is crisp, clean white, shiny metallic surfaces. 

Jeno takes his shoes off on the porch and still feels like he’s tracking mud everywhere, even though every time he looks back the floors are just as pristine. 

Donghyuck leads him into the kitchen. Inside, Jeno understands the huge windows. They let in a perfect amount of light during the afternoon, making everything sun-golden. 

Donghyuck rolls the sleeves of his loose white shirt to his elbows and tosses his sunglasses onto the island counter. When he opens the fridge, hidden into the cabinetry like a magic act, he taps his fingers on the door handle, mimicking the motions of a song only he can hear.

Jeno stops by the sink to wash his hands. With Donghyuck’s back turned, he takes the opportunity to pinch the collar of his t-shirt and take a sniff.

As expected, Jeno smells purely of soil and sweat. He hopes Mrs. Lee doesn’t have a sensitive nose, that he won’t get into any trouble for ruining the herby fresh scent of the kitchen.

“Are you any good at slicing lemons?” Donghyuck asks.

Jeno moves to wipe his hands on his shirt, only just catching himself before he makes the mistake. Instead, he holds them out in front of him, dripping water on his socked feet. “I think I can handle it.”

Donghyuck smiles again, something soft and fleeting, and tosses a hand towel to him.

Jeno thinks he should be nervous, standing beside Donghyuck in this caricature of domesticity, slicing lemons with freshly washed hands that smell of basil soap. But Donghyuck's presence beside him isn't what makes him glance toward the doorway.

"Is anyone else home today?" Jeno asks.

"Are you going to kill me?" Donghyuck asks.

Jeno blinks at him. "No?"

"That's good, I guess," Donghyuck murmurs. "I don't think you'd have time to hide me. But don't start digging any big holes out there. I'm watching you."

Jeno laughs. Donghyuck’s only joking, but the idea of his eyes on Jeno when he isn’t paying attention sends a thrill through him. He wonders how likely it is that Donghyuck’s seen him looking when he lounges by the pool, his bare skin glowing in the afternoon light, while Jeno squats in the dirt, up to his elbows in fertilizer. 

  
  


Within days, Jeno realizes that he doesn’t watch Donghyuck half as much as Donghyuck watches him. Every time he looks up, Donghyuck is bringing him a glass of water, commenting absently on the desolate flowerbeds, peering at him over the top of a paperback novel. 

Jeno asks what he’s reading, once, and Donghyuck has no answer. When Jeno leaves for the day, he spots the book still sitting by the pool and leans down to read the title. The cover shows a woman in a tight corset, her hair flowing over her shoulders as she leans back against a man with a bare chest, his thick arms holding her up as she swoons. 

_Is this the classic literature of a top-university educated man?_ Jeno thinks, shaking his head as he climbs into his truck. 

He likes to think he doesn’t smile the whole way home, but he can’t ignore the shifting image of Donghyuck in his mind – his designer sunglasses abandoned on the kitchen counter, his class and dignity left beside the pool.

  
  


Books are the hook. Donghyuck is smart enough to notice, to cast his line. Jeno is reeled in before he notices the tugging sensation at the corner of his mouth.

First, Donghyuck lures him in with the promise of electrolytes and a sandwich. Jeno would have been satisfied just to sit in the air conditioning, beside Donghyuck, breathing in the scent of basil hand soap and his woody cologne. 

Then, Donghyuck mentions the library.

“You have a library here?” Jeno asks. He speaks around a big bite, too eager to wait long enough to chew and swallow.

Donghyuck rests his chin in his hand. He watches Jeno flush pink with a clear level of pleasure in the curve of his lips. “Yeah,” he confirms when he’s content with Jeno’s shyness, “we have a library. Do you want to see it?”

“I shouldn’t,” Jeno says. 

Donghyuck sighs. “That’s a shame. We have some pretty old books. You know, I was just thinking the other day… I’m pretty sure we have some vintage folklore collections. There’s one with this pretty cover I used to read when I was a kid, over and over.”

Jeno swallows hard. His half-chewed food slides down his throat in a lump that makes him wince. “Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s great. Really cool for kids. If only there was a kid that might enjoy it now… too bad I don’t know any kids…”

Jeno, it turns out, is not as stubborn as he would like to believe. “My brother would probably like to read it.”

Donghyuck sits up, morphing his face into an expression like surprise. Neither of them are fooled, but, for now, they’ll keep pretending. “What a great idea, Jeno.”

The library had been pulled from the movies. Or else, a dream. Tall shelves, dark finishes, bulging with books and other objects that probably cost more than Jeno’s car and apartment combined. 

As Donghyuck sweeps past, heading for a rolling ladder leaned against the bookshelf across the room, Jeno turns on his heel.

He faces the rest of the house through the open doorway and finds it the same. Still, he’s unconvinced he’s in the same universe. Only the fabulously and irrationally wealthy would tuck a room like this away behind all the clean, white surfaces and glossy metal railing.

“Can you help me and hold this still?” Donghyuck asks, two rungs up.

“It looks sturdy,” Jeno says. But then he’s holding onto the ladder and lifting his face to watch Donghyuck as he climbs. Quieter, because this is a library, he adds, “Let me know if you need pushing.”

“I wouldn’t mind a shove.”

Jeno rolls his eyes and pushes the ladder gently in the direction of Donghyuck’s outstretched hand. 

Donghyuck catches the book on the tip of his finger, slipping it from the top shelf. Before he reaches the floor again, he pretends to fall not once, but twice, and Jeno almost lets him do it for real, but there are too many hard surfaces in the room to hit his head on if he really does go flailing backwards, so Jeno presses his hand to Donghyuck’s back until he finally descends, and even then a second longer.

“Do you want to stick around a while?”

Jeno rubs his thumb down the book’s spine. It’s smooth, the old leather supple under his touch. “I need to get home. I’m in charge of dinner tonight.”

Donghyuck hums. He perches on the edge of a plush looking chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Aren’t you in charge every night?”

Jeno blinks at him. “Yeah.”

“Right,” Donghyuck says. He watches Jeno. Jeno watches him. The room fills with the anticipation of disappointment. Jeno steels himself for the kick of guilt in his gut. But Donghyuck smiles. “Let me know if he likes it. They’re my favorite stories.”

“Yeah,” Jeno says again, a broken record in his surprise. He hopes it doesn’t show on his face. 

It does. Donghyuck indulges him with a roll of his eyes. 

“Of course, I mean,” Jeno says. “I’ll let you know. I’ll tell you, um, maybe next weekend, if you’re still here.”

“I’ll be here.” Donghyuck stands and the distance between them closes. He slides his phone on top of the book, under Jeno’s fingertips. “But I’m really desperate. I have to know if he likes this book, you know? So you should give me your number.”

Jeno tries not to look back as his truck rounds the drive, leaving the house behind him. He’s too afraid he’ll see Donghyuck watching him leave, a prince stuck in a tower as Jeno drives away, growing smaller. 

His phone chirps in the cupholder before he reaches the foot of the mountain. He pulls over, heart fluttering in his throat, wondering. 

**From: Unknown**

**hi jeno! save my number please,**

**i want an update soon**

Jeno’s thumbs tremble as he creates a new contact. He tosses the phone aside before he pulls onto the road again, not trusting himself to check again and again or fool himself into believing there’s more between the words than what he sees, more to language than what he knows. 

One night, Junseo peers up at Jeno and asks, "Why aren't there any best friends in fairy tales?"

Jeno has prepared himself for many questions. But not this one. "Why do you think?" He tries. 

Sometimes Junseo asks him trick questions that he already has an answer for, just to check Jeno's supposed authority.

Junseo shrugs. "I'm asking you."

Jeno sighs and closes the book in his lap, wedging his finger between the pages to hold their place. "I'm not sure. Maybe the characters don't need friends."

"Everyone needs friends."

Jeno opens his mouth, loses his words, takes a breath, takes two – considers the boy tucked under the quilts who can't stay for after school activities, always in a rush to get to his next doctor's appointment, whose tenth birthday was the last celebration with guests who actually showed.

"Maybe because the point of the story is magic," Jeno answers finally. "Vanquishing evil, saving the day, getting what you deserve."

"But..." Junseo mulls the idea over in his head. Once he's reached a conclusion, he scrunches his nose and looks back up at Jeno, who's been waiting patiently. "But what if you just deserve a friend?"

What if?

What if life isn't a fairytale?

Jeno's isn't – he knows that for sure. Between his weekdays as an office temp and weekends landscaping wealthy neighborhoods, he exists at the hospital and at home. Sometimes accompanied by Junseo, sometimes alone. 

He fails to consider the good part of existing in reality, where people have friends and get drinks and pester each other because they care too much. Because he doesn't have that. It seems like a bother. 

Then a nurse sweeps into the hospital room, smiling so wide behind his mask that his eyes crinkle in the corners, and says, "Hey there, Junseo. I'm Mark. I'm new around here, so you'll have to be patient with me. First off, are you a bigger fan of Spider-man or the Hulk?"

"They're really not comparable," Junseo answers.

"Oh, super," Mark says. "You're smart, aren't you? We'll get along."

Jeno smiles at the exchange, dozes between questions he needs to answer, and gets cornered in the hall on their way out. 

"You don't sleep much, do you?" Mark asked.

"I sleep when I can," Jeno says. It's true, but he trains his voice to stay steady, as if any dip in his mood might cause enough concern for the hospital to consider him unfit.

Mark considers him. With his mask pulled under his chin, his grim expression fully displayed, Jeno expects only the worst. "Are you the only one taking care of him?"

Jeno nods. "It's just us two."

"You can't do this alone," Mark says. He gives Jeno his number and Jeno convinces himself, for a full forty-eight hours, that he won't call. 

But he wonders. He caves. Mark's just a charming with the zoo ticket attendant as the kids in the pediatric ward. The gentle smile he offers worried parents shifts into something trickier at the bar, sweet-talking a stranger into buying his and Jeno's drinks. He brings Junseo comic books, and pizza in take-out boxes the size of their TV. 

And maybe, all along, Jeno deserved a little more than the weight of the world on his shoulders. Maybe he deserves someone to carry the burden with him.

Maybe the fairy tales wouldn't need magic at all, if they had friends.

**To: Lee Donghyuck:**

**The book is great. Thank you.**

**From: Lee Donghyuck**

**oh really? i’m glad he likes it**

**To: Lee Donghyuck**

**I’ll bring it back next week.**

**From: Lee Donghyuck**

**don’t worry about it, just bring yourself**

**(read 19:54)**

“I think my boss’s son is hitting on me.”

Mark’s hand jerks sideways and drops of the cake batter he’d been so dutifully stirring splatter against the wall. He blinks at Jeno. 

Jeno sighs and grabs a towel. “I didn’t say I’m _dying_ , I said someone is _interested in me_.”

“What are the chances?” Mark murmurs.

“I– Definitely not even similar.”

Mark shrugs and lifts his hand, licking the stray batter from his wrist. “What are you going to do?”

Jeno doesn’t have a good answer. It would be irresponsible to do anything about it. He needs this job. It’s obvious. 

What Mark sees on his face must be positively morbid. He considers Jeno with his brows drawn, his lips scrunched up like he’s tasted something sour. “Jeno.”

“It’s fine,” Jeno says. He’s not sure who he’s trying to placate — Mark, or the upset kicking his gut. “I’ll figure it out.”

Mark quiets for a few minutes. The moment nearly passes. Jeno’s mind wanders to the seedlings he needs to pick up from the nursery, how they’ll fit alongside the flagstone and too-green lawn. 

Mark sets the bowl down with a clatter. “When was the last time you met someone?”

Jeno blinks. This is not happening. “I meet people all the time.”

“Jeno,” Mark says sternly. 

“A while. It’s fine. I’m not, like— it’s not a necessity.”

“It’d be nice, though.”

“Yeah,” Jeno admits. “It’d be nice.”

**To: Lee Donghyuck**

**Thank you for the notebooks.**

**Junseo will use them well.**

**From: Lee Donghyuck**

**they’re meant to be used! will you use one too?**

**(seen 22:14)**

**let’s get drinks together soon**

**(seen 23:08)**

**To: Lee Donghyuck**

**Maybe. I’m pretty busy.**

**(delivered 02:37)**

  
  
  


"Oh, good, you're here."

Jeno couldn't have predicted the sight waiting for him when he turns around. The broom slips from his fingers, clattering to the ground. Blinking fast, he bends to pick it up. Donghyuck isn't going to be standing there when he straightens, he thinks, but he is – hands on his hips, lips pursed together as if to blow a kiss, or hold back a grin.

"It's early," Jeno says.

Donghyuck squints, running a hand through his bedhead. "Do you think I lay around all day?"

"Don't you?" Jeno pauses to adjust his cap, knocking the bill up so he can see Donghyuck better and – perhaps that's a dangerous game to play, looking. 

He's dressed in a threadbare university t-shirt and baggy jeans that sit too low on his hips. Puffy eyes betray the fact that he rolled out of bed just as Jeno pulled up the drive. Though the sun has barely peeked over the mountains, Donghyuck's eyes glimmer, his gaze fixed on Jeno as Jeno opens the greenhouse door.

"Sometimes. But not today," Donghyuck answers. "You're a good influence."

"Me?"

Donghyuck bends down. Jeno blinks at the top of his head, and then his nose as he stands again, a little too close for Jeno to act unaffected. "You."

Jeno stares as Donghyuck carries his tools into the greenhouse, surveying the dismal mess before shoving the bag between two overgrown plants on a worktable.

"It's disgusting in here," Donghyuck says.

He's not wrong. One step past the threshold the air is stuffy and humid. Rot fills Jeno's nose. But it's not altogether unpleasant. It still smells green, even though everything is brown and dead. Jeno swipes fallen leaves away from his path with the broom, half-hearted. "I have a lot of work today, Donghyuck."

"Clearly. Why do you think I'm dressed like this? I'm here to get my hands dirty. And everything else."

Jeno laughs. "How dirty do you think gardening is?"

Donghyuck cocks his hip against the bench and swats at the air. Gnats, most likely, drawn to all the damp rot. "Listen, I know you're not rolling around in mud every day, but you definitely get..."

"Sweaty?" Jeno fills in. "Smelly?"

Donghyuck hums his affirmation. "Not like I mind."

Jeno must be getting used to him. He doesn't choke on his next inhale the way he might have a few months ago. He shakes his head, disbelieving.

"What?" Donghyuck asks. "You don't think I'll be any help, is that it? You think I'll just be in the way?"

Jeno lifts a brow. "Did I say that?"

"You're thinking it." Donghyuck taps a finger to his temple. His hands are so smooth, the skin soft and untouched. 

Even from a distance, Jeno's struck by Donghyuck's tenderness, despite the thorns embedded through his house, protruding from the walls and ceiling, threatening to crush him under their weight. He remains gentle, the curve of his artist's hands as he extends them toward Jeno sculpted by some higher power Jeno hasn't reckoned with yet.

"Come here," Donghyuck murmurs. "You look like you've just seen a ghost."

The stench in here must be going to his head, because he listens, crossing the greenhouse to stand in front of Donghyuck.

He should check for poisonous plants in here – maybe they're giving off fumes that twist his thoughts into incomprehensible knots. He can't be troubled with untying them again, not when he's watching Donghyuck take his hands. 

"Tell me," Donghyuck murmurs.

"I thought you could hear what I'm thinking already."

"Stubborn," Donghyuck comments. He brushes his thumbs over Jeno's knuckles. He must not mind the hard calluses of Jeno's palms, his bumpy knuckles, torn cuticles. 

It's been a long time since someone touched Jeno. Since someone held him. He sways toward Donghyuck, his body betraying his mind at the thought of the press of a warm body against his own. He catches himself, just at the last second, swallowing hard as he glances sideways at Donghyuck, his nose nearly grazing the curve of his jaw.

Donghyuck's breath puffs warm over his cheek, his lips parted, though no sound comes out. He's closed his eyes, his lashes crosshatching shadows over his purpled under eyes. 

"Sorry," Jeno whispers. 

Donghyuck shakes his head – a short, minuscule motion that neither pulls away from or leans into their proximity. "Don't be."

He squeezes Jeno's hands and then, in a moment, twirls away, putting the workbench between them before Jeno can take one deep breath.

"I mean it," Donghyuck says, "I'm here to help. Don't distract me."

Jeno licks his lips, urging his tongue to work properly again. "I'll try. But–"

Donghyuck tilts his head, waiting. Ever in motion, he pinches a yellowed vine between his fingers, tracing it back to the soil, the roots. 

"But you know I'm getting paid for this, right?" Jeno asks. "Like. You're paying me for this."

"Not me. My mother," Donghyuck corrects.

"So..."

"So," Donghyuck says, "I want to spend time with you, but you're always too busy. So, I got up at the crack of dawn and came down here to help you clean up this disgusting thing... So, I just want to be near you. Am I allowed to do that?"

Jeno swallows hard. "It's your house."

Donghyuck's expression steadies, his mouth lined with silent intensity. Again, he asks, "Am I allowed?"

Always giving. What will he take, given the chance? What will Jeno offer him, besides heartache? Jeno knows he'll take pain, if Jeno hands it to him, and he'll carry it as long as Jeno asks.

Is it martyrdom he wants? Or is it just the chance to stand beside Jeno and whisper silly jokes in his ear, hear him laugh, hold his hand?

Jeno says, "Yes," and the responding smile throws the greenhouse into light.

  
  


That night, Jeno leans over the sink and splashes his face. When he looks into the mirror, he studies his reflection: his nose he’s always thought was a little too big, his eyes, dark lashes clumped wetly together, the hard press of his lips into a line as he tries not to gasp the breath his lungs demand, burning. 

Jeno tries to see what _he_ sees, and finds nothing but a boy made of paper. 

“What are you so afraid of?” he asks. “Are you a coward?”

His reflection has no answer. At least, it does not offer one. 

  
  


He holds out much longer than he expects. 

Donghyuck rolls back on his heels, squatting close by as Jeno packs earth around the newly planted seedling. Leaves tickle his nose as he leans down, his face centimeters from the soil. This close, he can see the details of the dirt, its many pieces of fine rock, an earthworm wriggling beside his left pinky.

"Are you scared of heights?" Donghyuck asks.

Jeno laughs, taken aback. "No. I used to rock climb."

"Really?" Donghyuck shifts over with him when he moves on to the next hole in the flowerbed. He cradles a seedling between his hands until Jeno's ready to take it. Without gloves, dirt streaks his palms. He doesn't show any indication of being bothered by the mess. "Did you dream of climbing mountains? Mt. Everest maybe?"

"No. I just liked the idea of it, I guess. Being up high, looking down. And it's a fun way to exercise."

"I bet," Donghyuck murmurs. 

Jeno tilts his head, catches the appreciative slip of Donghyuck's gaze over Jeno's arms. Jeno swallows the chuckle in his throat, coughing around it. "Why do you ask?"

"I have to have a reason?"

Jeno takes the plant from Donghyuck, waiting.

"Okay," Donghyuck admits, seconds later. "I have a friend from school who just got his helicopter license."

Jeno squints down at his work. "Why?"

"For fun?"

"Who– okay. He's going to take you for a spin?"

"You get it. So you'll come?"

Jeno coughs again, choking on his inhale. "Huh?"

"You'll come with me, right?" Donghyuck asks. "You like heights. Are you going to pass up a private helicopter ride?"

The whole conversation is so ludicrous Jeno feels like he's dreaming. But Donghyuck watches him with enduring patience, a hopeful tilt to his chin as he waits for his answer. For people like him, he might as well be asking if Jeno wants to take a walk around the neighborhood. Jeno wonders if Donghyuck will ever stop surprising him.

"Maybe," Jeno answers. 

He doesn't miss the flicker of disappointment that crosses Donghyuck's face. Donghyuck recovers with a smile and a shrug, hands him his trowel.

 _You can be upset with me,_ Jeno wants to tell him. But he doesn't. The morning fades into afternoon in quiet, Donghyuck's voice lilting gently over Jeno's unease.

  
  


It would take a force of magic to convince Jeno to leave Junseo at home on his rare day off. They don't have much time to relax between appointments, school, and work. Jeno is reluctant to leave his place on the living room floor, under the canopy of the blanket fort Junseo insisted on building for their movie marathon. 

It's cozy, warm. The building pressure on Jeno's chest eases off, if only for the day, for these long hours with his head pillowed on a couch cushion, the animated sounds of the TV muffled in his dozing. 

A knock on the door interrupts his peace. 

"Oh, who's that?" Junseo asks without looking up from his phone, far too casual to be innocent.

Jeno hauls himself upright. His back pops loudly as he stretches his arms toward the ceiling. "If you ordered food on my phone, you're seriously in trouble."

When the door opens, there is pizza – but it's held not by a delivery person, but by Mark.

Mark stares at Jeno.

Jeno stares at Mark.

"What the fuck are you still doing here?" Mark asks.

Jeno is too surprised to do much more than hold the door open for Mark to enter. "What are you talking about?"

"Don't you have a date? A helicopter date? Junseo said you'd decided to go and asked me to bring food."

Jeno shoots a look at Junseo, who suddenly looks very interested in the view from the living room window. "That wasn't really... I never agreed to go. I only said anything because it was funny."

"Funny," Mark repeats, voice flat. "Jeno. Please change your clothes and get out of here."

"I can't just–"

"Jeno."

Jeno takes a deep breath. He looks to his brother and finds only eagerness in his expression. "You'll be okay?"

"Duh," Junseo says. "We're gonna watch anime."

It would certainly take a force of magic to convince Jeno to take the leap. 

Or the force of Mark and his brother.

In the elevator, Jeno fears he might be making a mistake. It takes only a minute to reach the top floor, but his mind cycles through everything that might go wrong. Mainly, that Donghyuck won’t be excited to see him, that he’s too late.

When the elevator doors slide open and their eyes meet, Donghyuck's smile bursts. "Hey, you made it."

Jeno tsks. "I couldn't miss this."

Donghyuck is gracious enough not to mention everything Jeno has missed, his constant pulling from Donghyuck's push. 

Instead he reaches out, squeezes his shoulder. His hand travels down Jeno's arm, his fingers cool on Jeno's bare wrist, and then he takes his hand. "You're just in time. We're taking off in five. You don't need to use the bathroom do you?"

Jeno shakes his head. "We'd be late anyway."

"Jeno," Donghyuck laughs. He doesn't need to tug on Jeno's arm to guide him out to the heli-pad. Their steps run parallel. "You know I'd wait, don't you?"

As they step outside, Jeno's glad for the wind whipping at their faces. He can attribute the flush across his cheeks to the bite of the air. 

Donghyuck notices anyway. He has to shout to be heard over the noise of the engine. But that doesn't stop him. "If it made you happy, I'd slow the whole world down."

"Oh, won't you?" Jeno asks. "Please?"

Donghyuck squeezes his hand. He doesn't let go even after they settle into their seats – only to put on their seatbelts and headphones and then he's clasping Jeno's hand between his. 

Even without the belt, Jeno would feel safe as they rise up from the top of the building. With his hand in Donghyuck's, he isn't capable of falling. If he slips, Donghyuck will drag him back.

Donghyuck doesn't say yes, but his fingers slot between Jeno's. His smile is eager and his eyes bright as Jeno looks out at the view, sucks in a sharp breath as the mountains open under them like anthills. 

Donghyuck doesn't need to say anything at all. Jeno knows. And the knowing settles in his chest like it was always meant to be there. The final key to the last rusty lock, the echo as his heart opens.

  
  


**From: Lee Mark**

**Jeno, the hospital called the house phone.**

**Junseo’s at the top of the list, they have a heart.**

**Did you get the call?**

**I’m taking him to the hospital now.**

**Meet us right away.**

**Jeno, hurry.**

**(delivered 13:01)**

**(seen 13:42)**

He doesn’t fully remember the drive to the hospital. Only pieces. Donghyuck’s hands gripping the wheel, his knuckles white; Jeno’s spotty cell service, his undelivered messages, disconnected calls; the red flashing lights on the top of the ambulance as Donghyuck ushered him inside, hand pressed to his back – holding him up, hurrying him forward.

If Mark and Donghyuck pause to introduce themselves to each other, Jeno does not remember.

If the doctors looked at him scornfully for his late arrival, Jeno does not remember.

He sees Junseo briefly, passing him between paperwork, and there are a flurry of white lab coats, a crying baby by the nurses’ station, and then there is the waiting.

There is so much waiting.

  
  


24 hours after Jeno leaves the house he returns, a bundle of exhaustion delivered to the door by Donghyuck.

“He’ll be up in no time,” Donghyuck murmurs as Jeno pulls out his keys.

Jeno doesn’t want to jinx it. “Thanks for bringing me home. And staying. You didn’t have to.”

Donghyuck’s undereyes have purpled from the long night. Jeno’s sure he doesn’t look much better, which is why he’s avoided looking in any reflective surfaces since he last woke, his head cushioned on Mark’s shoulder. 

Despite his tired eyes, Donghyuck smiles. “One day you’ll realize I like being by your side.”

“Even when I’m all…” Jeno trails off, gesturing vaguely at his whole being.

“Even when you’re all that,” Donghyuck touches his arm and then he steps back. “Get some sleep. You’ll have time to worry when Junseo’s home.”

Jeno waits until he reaches the car to step inside. He stands at the entryway, listening for the sound of Donghyuck pulling away, but it never comes, even when the headlights fade. Everything is silent.

  
  


Soon after Junseo comes home, Jeno discovers he can't sleep without the sounds of the machines that used to keep his brother alive. It's a haunting realization, and it slips ice-cold down his limbs, gripping his wrists with slender fingers. 

It pulls him out of bed and urges him to wander up and down the hallway, as if there is a space missing between his bedroom and the kitchen, someplace he has yet to discover. 

He doesn't find anything as he paces. Instead, he stands at his brother's door and stares at the smooth surface, the drawings and posters they taped over the stripped paint and worn wood. On the other side of the door is silence. It should make him afraid – it still does, rattling his bones, spiking his heartbeat – but his brain, the rational parts that persevere through his exhaustion, assure him that this is not a dream. 

His brother is alive and breathing and Jeno doesn't have to worry about him slipping away again. He doesn't have to worry about survival anymore. They've survived.

But he's not the one who needs convincing.

"He still doesn't want to go out," Jeno says. "And-" 

A creak of footsteps on old flooring in the hall. He pauses, leans around the corner, and catches the heel of a socked foot crossing the boundary between hall and bathroom. The door closes. He leans back into the kitchen, lowers his voice. "He doesn't want to do anything. He just sleeps and lays in bed."

Across the phone line, Mark snorts. "Do you want him to start running track? He just had major surgery."

It would be so easy to hang up the phone. He deserves it, for catching that tone. But Jeno did call him, after all. 

"I know that. Obviously," Jeno mutters. "But he's always been...energetic. I'm worried that he's..."

"Depressed?"

"Or something."

Mark sighs. He draws it out for so long his breath becomes white noise against Jeno's ear. "Just...wait."

"Wait," Jeno repeats.

"Wait," Mark confirms. "He'll talk to you."

Jeno scrunches his nose. Rubs his forehead. He blinks fast, his eyes sticky with the sleep denied. "That doesn't make me feel any better."

"I'm not sure it's supposed to," Mark murmurs. "Hey, Jeno?"

The door opens again. More soft footsteps. The floor creaking. Another door closed. "Mm?"

"You're not his parent. You don't have to be."

Jeno frowns. "I'm not– I'm not trying to be."

"Okay. I'm just reminding you. He doesn't need you to be a dad. Just his brother."

"Yeah," Jeno says. There's more, bubbling in his throat, but it doesn't come up, just sits there and burns. "Yeah."

Pinned to the refrigerator door with a bright Spider-man magnet, an envelope with his name looped over the face draws his eye. He’d found it the night Donghyuck dropped him off, weeks ago – an invitation to a fundraiser for the children’s hospital, hosted at the Lee's house.

He looks away.

"You're too young to be a dad," Mark continues, "but if you keep worrying like you do, you're not going to look it."

Jeno scoffs. "Fuck you."

Mark's laughing as Jeno ends the call, but Jeno hopes it hurts, just a little.

  
  


Jeno lets another week pass by. Then one more day. When he wakes up from an accidental nap, lying face down on the couch, he wipes drool off his chin and grimaces at the damp spots on the cushions. In the corner of his vision, his phone screen is just dimming from a notification. 

He grabs it from the edge of the coffee table. It barely recognizes his face, swollen from sleep, eyes still squinted. By the time his eyes have focused enough to read the text, there's been a series of follow-ups, emojis ranging from smiling to blushing to hearts, back to smiling.

**From: Lee Donghyuck**

**are you coming tonight?**

**everyone will be there... when i say everyone, i mean me. i will be there.**

**i hope you’ll come**

**(seen 12:16)**

Tonight. The fundraiser. 

Jeno hasn’t showered in at least three days. He doesn’t have anything to wear. 

Junseo appears above him, leaning over the back of the couch. “Hyung. I’m hungry.”

“Let’s go for a walk,” Jeno says.

  
  


Like every day, they walk slow. Jeno is used to matching his pace to Junseo’s shorter strides. Today, the stroll seems to exacerbate Junseo’s gloomy mood. 

He pulls his hood up, ducking his head as they meander through their neighborhood. They stop by the park, across from the elementary school, and sit on the bench.

“How are you feeling?” Jeno asks.

Junseo stuffs his hands in his pockets, his shoulders hunched forward. He doesn't look up from his own feet, toes tapping the concrete. He shrugs.

Jeno watches the basketball game in front of them. The kids are running back and forth, shouting, passing the ball, throwing it, whooping with victory. They run and scream and call each other names. And they breathe. They smile. They're going to live a long time. Or maybe disaster will strike when they least expect it. But most of them will live. Jeno did. Junseo will, too.

Jeno tilts his face up toward the sky. It's overcast today. Through the clouds, blue shows like missing puzzle pieces. 

"Hey," Jeno says. "It's not raining."

Junseo looks at him. He squints. "It hasn't rained in forever. Did you hit your head?"

"No," Jeno says. He stands. "Do you want to play a game?"

Junseo couldn't look more disgusted. "A- basketball? I can't- why would you ask me that?"

Jeno rolls his eyes. "I was thinking of a video game, but if you really want to shoot some hoops, I don't mind..."

"Video game works," Junseo says quickly.

Jeno resists a smile. He nods toward home. "Race you?"

"Fuck you," Junseo snarks.

Jeno tries not to laugh. He shouldn't let Junseo swear. But that's his fault, too, isn't it? He might as well laugh for now. He can be the responsible adult later. Today, he's just going to be a brother.

  
  


“Are you sure you’ll be alright tonight?”

Mark – the saint that he is – looks up from his laptop. Behind his glasses, he squints. “You don’t think I can take care of stuff here?”

“No, I know you can.” Jeno pauses as he shrugs his coat on. As stylish as it is, it’s a little tight around his shoulders, borrowed from his stylish neighbor, Ten. He’s a little afraid he’ll rip the stitching. “I just feel like...you do so much for me already.”

“You’d do the same,” Mark says after a moment. He pushes his glasses up with his knuckle, looking him over. “And you will, once you have a rich husband and time on your hands. Holy shit, Jeno. You look great.”

Jeno blushes. It’s not like Mark is stingy with affection, but he always means what he says. He must really look okay. 

“Thanks,” Jeno says, sliding his shoes on at the door. “Call me if anything happens, or if he asks for me, or...anything. I’ll try not to be too late.”

“Be as late as you want,” Mark says. “I’m taking your bed either way.”

  
  


The Lee house crawls with businesspeople and socialites. Their sleek black cars frame the long driveway in two lines. For a moment, Jeno imagines his truck, bed brimming with landscaping equipment, parked among these vehicles and he has to suppress a shiver. He gladly hands over the cash to the taxi driver before stepping out onto the drive. Well worth it. 

Jeno considers the house. Lights strung up between trees and pillars twinkle like tiny stars. There are a few men and women, faces clouded by cigarette smoke, that linger at the bottom of the steps. Through the windows, more guests swirl and cluster. Nothing is still. 

Except him, hesitating on the pavement, his hands curled into fists at his side. 

_Are you a coward?_ He asks himself. _Yes. Obviously._

He may not be brave, but he's not a wanderer, either. He's here for a reason. And he doesn't need to be staring the reason in the face to feel the burst of warmth in his chest. It drives him forward. 

No one stops him at the door. No one calls him out for his intrusion or asks for his invitation. 

He slips between strangers and is offered a flute of champagne by a passing waiter. He takes it, just to have something to do with his hands, and then immediately regrets it, because his fingers are thick and callused against the delicate glass. His thumb smears heat across the stem of the glass. 

He swallows hard, finds his mouth dry, and realizes the solution all in seconds – he downs the champagne and sets the glass on the antique chest of drawers outside the library.

No one notices the nerves that flood his body. That's what he tells himself. He blends in just fine, just a man attending a fundraiser, and no one knows how empty his pockets are, or that this suit is borrowed. 

Yet Jeno's cheeks prickle with the feeling of being watched. He sets his jaw and glances around the hallway, seeing nothing and no one whose gaze lingers on him. Then – there. Through the window to the back garden, a man. Not just any man. Donghyuck – his hair swept neatly back from his face, his eyes shaking as though with laughter, although his lips remain gently curved, pressed together. He lifts his champagne to Jeno, a small salute, and tips it into his mouth. 

Like chasing a mischievous ghost, Jeno follows Donghyuck, always a few steps behind. He leads him to a wing of the house he’s never entered before. The walls are lined with artwork, classic and romantic and abstract, an eclectic arrangement of taste that Jeno won’t pretend to understand. He doesn’t pause to inspect them. The colors blur as he passes them, chasing the Donghyuck’s heels around corners.

He arrives in the final room. Everything is white, from the furniture to the vases, blooming with pink camellias. The other exception is the grand piano, glossy black. 

Donghyuck sits on the bench, his ankles crossed as if he’s been waiting forever. His chest betrays him, rising and falling fast as he catches his breath. He smiles and Jeno forgets the rest. “What a pleasant surprise. It’s difficult to find you alone these days. Seems like you’re always running away.”

“You’re the one who was running,” Jeno points out. “What’s this?”

“My grandmother’s collection. Do you like it?”

Jeno glances around, but he can’t resist the pull of the line of Donghyuck’s body, his pose beside the piano, his fingers stroking over the keys without producing a sound. “What’s not to like?”

“It’s cold,” Donghyuck answers. “I used to spend all my time here when I was a kid.”

Jeno pinches a camellia petal between his fingertips, not hard enough to tear, just enough to feel something soft under his touch. “It’s a shitty playground. Doesn’t leave room for a lot of imagination.”

“Doesn’t it? I could sit here for hours, just thinking. What do you think? There’s probably a fairy tale about turning to stone when you’re left all alone or something,” Donghyuck says. He laughs, the brightest thing in the bleached out room, antiques and finery be damned. 

“Maybe marble,” Jeno says, “porcelain. Something for a museum.”

Donghyuck leans forward onto the glossy piano keys. They clang discordantly, but Jeno manages to keep a straight face. “Am I pretty enough for a museum, Lee Jeno?”

“You’d be the prettiest thing there,” Jeno tells him though he’s not a thing, he’s a person, or a god. But a god wouldn’t look at Jeno like that, with a crooked little smile and an eye roll meant to hide the shyness Donghyuck won’t allow himself. 

_Does it hurt to always take up so much space,_ Jeno wants to ask, _does it hurt to spread your arms so wide your shoulders break?_

 _You don’t have to fill the room, Donghyuck,_ he wants to say, _I see you, I see you, I see you._

“Play me a song,” he requests before those words can tumble off his lips. He lingers by the flowers a moment more before crossing the room. Every footstep feels like a stumble, but if Donghyuck notices him tripping he doesn’t mention it. 

“What do you want me to play?” Donghyuck asks. He scoots over on the piano bench, nodding for Jeno to sit. Who would Jeno be to deny him?

“Anything,” Jeno says, “play something that makes you think of me.”

Donghyuck laughs, but it’s strained, choking. There’s nothing funny about it.

Jeno stares down at his hands, clasped between his thighs.

Jeno doesn’t know a lot about music. He doesn’t know much about it at all. But the song sounds like the beat of his heart, tastes like sweat, feels like rain. 

Donghyuck’s lashes flutter over his cheeks as he plays. He likes being watched – he catches Jeno’s gaze and holds it.

Seconds pass before Jeno realizes Donghyuck has stopped playing.

“Let’s get some air,” Donghyuck murmurs.

They’re quiet as they move to the balcony at the end of the hall. Jeno’s fingers tingle with the anticipation of reaching out, taking Donghyuck’s hand, but he doesn’t. Neither does Donghyuck.

Shoulder to shoulder, they lean their elbows on the railing.

“You can have anything you want, you know,” Donghyuck murmurs. 

Jeno wants to believe him. He almost can, because Donghyuck’s tongue is a precious instrument that makes things simple and true.

“What do you want?” Donghyuck asks. 

And Jeno can’t say it. He’s a coward, after all, afraid of dragons. And maybe Donghyuck’s just a boy, but he’s burning, and Jeno doesn’t know how to be safe from his flame without putting out the light.

"I want a lot of money," Jeno says. "I want a vacation home somewhere warm. Maybe a cool car. Something foreign."

"Wow," Donghyuck says, "big dreams."

"They're big for people like me," Jeno murmurs. He means to tease, to prod at Donghyuck's own foolishness that his familial wealth affords him, but he doesn't expect the discomfort fluttering over Donghyuck's face, the violent twist of his lips as he looks away.

Donghyuck peers over the edge of the balcony. Jeno doesn't know what he's seeing – it's so dark that the ground doesn't appear to exist, just a black hole where the pavement should be – but maybe that's the point. Maybe Donghyuck is fascinated by that which doesn't exist. That which can't.

"What do you want?" Jeno asks quietly. 

_Gentle,_ he thinks. Spooking Donghyuck might make him disappear altogether, fold into himself like a magic trick. There, one moment, all solid boy, solid gold. Gone the next, just the cold air slipping through Jeno's fingers.

"I want to kiss you," Donghyuck says. A glance, his tongue darting out over his lip, his hands gripping the railing hard, his knuckles white. "No."

Jeno doesn't dare look away, doesn't want to miss this, doesn't want to keel over the side of the balcony and fall into that abyss. "No?"

"No," Donghyuck says, "I want you to kiss me."

Jeno feels the flames lick his palms as he cups Donghyuck's face between his hands. Is it martyrdom, to give himself up to the fire? Is it insanity to lean into the killing thing?

Donghyuck's hands circle Jeno's wrists, holding him there. He's waiting, looking, his lips parted just enough to exhale shakily and – Donghyuck, the boy made of marble and fire, shaking, holding onto Jeno's like he's afraid he'll change his mind and wrench out of his grip, run away.

When Jeno kisses him he expects a dizzy spark. He expects to float up, up, up – pull Donghyuck into the clouds where they can hide away like two gods.

But they're both just boys, just young men holding onto each other, and Donghyuck's mouth is just a mouth. 

But god, if it isn't the sweetest mouth Jeno's ever tasted.

When they part it's just for a few seconds. Then they're surging together again, Donghyuck's hands fisted into Jeno's shirt, Jeno's hands sliding across his back.

In his touch, Jeno rises to the top of the tower, not needing a sword, not needing to be saved.

  
  


Donghyuck’s bed is soft, but his skin is softer. 

Jeno traces his fingers up his arm from his wrist, across the line of his collarbone, to the dip of his throat. He follows his touch with the press of his lips, imagining a bloom of red everywhere his lips touch Donghyuck, a mark that will show like silly vandalism: _I was here!_

Donghyuck hums, his throat vibrating against the tip of Jeno’s nose. “Wh‘ time issit?”

“Too late,” Jeno murmurs. “I should go.”

Donghyuck groans and latches his arms around Jeno’s shoulders, hooking their ankles together. “Don’t.”

“Donghyuck.”

“Don’t.”

“Donghyuck,” Jeno repeats, laughing. He lifts his head to press a kiss to the tip of Donghyuck’s nose, then his cheek, his chin, the corner of his mouth. 

Donghyuck cups the back of his neck, drawing him into another kiss, his tongue hot and unashamed.

Jeno breaks away with a grin, squeezing Donghyuck’s hip as Donghyuck’s fingers tighten in his hair. “I already called a cab.”

"I guess I'll stay here," Donghyuck sighs. He swings his arms out and starfishes over the plush bed. 

"I'm sure you can find something to amuse you." Jeno, finally released, stands and pulls last night’s clothes on. They fit just as terribly.

"Nothing as much as you," Donghyuck murmurs. His words draw a flush of pink even to his own ears. He abandons his dramatics to pull the duvet up to his nose, peeking out at Jeno.

Jeno smiles. He's indulged Donghyuck enough by postponing his return home just to lie around and kiss. Although Donghyuck's half-mast gaze is tempting, although Jeno would love little more than to slip back into his embrace and burrow into his chest, warm and satiated, he has responsibilities. 

He has his family. He misses his brother and wants to tell Mark everything.

But he caves. He leans over the bed, draws down the covers, and kisses Donghyuck. Though the press of their lips is chaste, the look Donghyuck gives him is full of heat. 

Donghyuck is a brat half-way to a fit, but for Jeno he bites his lip. Jeno strokes a finger over his cheek, kisses the corner of his mouth, and straightens his spine. "I'll see you soon."

"Tomorrow," Donghyuck murmurs. "I’ll miss you."

Jeno smiles, shrugging his borrowed coat over his shoulders. "Can't have that." 

Donghyuck may not be a dragon, but he's magic all the same. Jeno pauses with his hand on the door and looks back. 

Donghyuck shines under his gaze, grinning wide before he lifts a hand and lazily flicks his fingers. "Shoo. Go home. I'll start researching how to get my pilot's license."

"Oh?"

"Surprised?" Donghyuck tucks his face against the pillows, closing his eyes. In a moment, they slide back to Jeno with a flattering glint. "We're going to fly away, Jeno."

Jeno contains his laughter until he reaches the top of the stairs, where he has to pause, muffle the burst of light with his hands clasped over his mouth.

The house is full of evidence of last night’s festivities. He’s as grateful for the mess now as he was for the noise then. No one will notice him slipping outside as the cleaners come around. 

He reaches the foot of the stairs and looks outside.

It’s raining. 

The cab crawls up the hill. From the door to the car, he’s bound to get soaked. But there’s little fun in staying dry or steering clear of a mess.

Upstairs is a man who will love him someday. He’ll love him horribly and beautifully, and they won’t understand each other and Jeno will think he’s perfect anyway. 

At home, his family waits for him to return and paint a picture of a ball, but Jeno doesn’t need chasing. He still has both shoes.

He steps into the downpour and lets the water run to his roots.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! would love to know your thoughts <3
> 
> you can find me here:  
> [twt](https://twitter.com/jpseudy)  
> [cc](https://curiouscat.me/jpseudy)


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